


Sharing is caring

by boom_slap



Series: Unlikely Alliances [3]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Domestic Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap
Summary: 5+1 times Andrés and Martín shared clothes.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: Unlikely Alliances [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014189
Comments: 11
Kudos: 84





	Sharing is caring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dashwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwood/gifts).



> Am I ever going to move on from UA? Probably not.  
> I guess this one can be read separately, still, but why would you do that if the full story is [right here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512937).  
> 

1.

Martín is pathetic. He is. He's the most pathetic being on Earth. He's having an emotional crisis over a shirt laid out on the mattress that serves as his bed. 

He has a job interview today. _Dalí's_ , a coffeeshop that looks quite cool, really. He has to get that job. He has to keep it, to earn the money so that he can pay his share of the rent and stay with Andrés. He can't fuck this up.

"What, are you waiting for a servant to help you get dressed?" 

Martín nearly jumps at that. He turns around to see Sergio - _sneaky kid_ \- standing in the doorway, one brow raised in an expression that no teenager should be able to make and certainly not at his elders. 

"What, do you want to play the part?" he shoots back and grins. Sergio rolls his eyes. 

Martín panics a little, however, when the boy turns to leave, so he lunges forward and grabs his arm, Sergio looking up at him in confusion. 

"Wait-"

"What?"

"I just-..." Martín sighs and lets go of Sergio's arm, glancing off to the side as he runs a hand through his hair. He makes a mental note that it's getting too long. 

"What?" Sergio repeats, calmer now. 

"Does he- like, does he want me to borrow it?"

Sergio raises his eyebrows. 

"Why are you asking _me_? You can just talk to him."

Martín can't. He realizes, with painful clarity, that for Sergio, Andrés is- well, a brother. Such a normal, mundane thing. For Martín, Andrés is still a mystery, a savior, a deity. He has to tread carefully and learn to play by whatever rules. 

He must be looking miserable, because Sergio sighs theatrically. 

"Yes, Martín," he says. "He wants you to borrow it."

  
  


2.

"A tie?" 

Martín nods, keeping his gaze stubbornly plastered to the ground, hands shoved into his pockets. 

"A black one, if you have one-" 

Andrés snorts at that, throwing his head back. 

"Of course I have a black tie, it's a must. Come on," he says, already turning back to walk to his room. Martín follows him, praying to fuck that Andrés-

"So, who died?" 

Aw _hell._

"A neighbor," Martín sighs, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Andrés opens one of the drawers and carefully looks through the insane amount of his accessories. 

"You're going to a neighbor's funeral?" Andrés asks, throwing him a curious look. 

Martín clears his throat. 

"Yeah, well, look- he was cool to me when my father was useless. Not much of a bond, but he bought me McDonald's once or twice."

"A true hero," Andrés murmurs and there's something strangely bitter in his voice. He hands Martín the tie and already reaches for the door handle, but Martín lets go of whatever pride he had left. 

"Andrés," he says and he doesn't have to say more. He just gives Andrés a look, feeling tired and dumb, his hands dropped to his sides, lips curled. 

Andrés doesn't mock him, he doesn't comment. Martín nearly sobs with relief when Andrés takes the tie from his hand and puts it around his neck. He watches Andrés' fingers moving with ease as he ties the tie into a perfect knot. 

"Thanks," Martín breathes and Andrés gives him a smile so nice that for a moment, Martín forgets all about death and misery. 

3.

Martín hates that he has to get home. He fucking hates it. 

Sure, Mirko wouldn't have anything against Martín _staying,_ but Martín doesn't want to get into that. He doesn't want to confuse Mirko with any of that shit and he especially doesn't want to fool _himself_ into thinking that a relationship would make sense. 

He's just so fucking exhausted after a second consecutive twelve hour shift, he almost regrets the post-work hookup, he woke up exhausted and he's been exhausted all day, thank you very much. 

He'd gladly just pass out. 

Still, Martín is no fool. He slips out of the bed and right into the puddle of clothes next to it, bending down to grab the underwear and pulling it up quickly, needing to cover himself, no matter how dumb this reflex may be. 

"Since when do you wear actual brands?" Mirko asks, his voice sleepy, and Martín frowns in confusion before dropping his gaze to the briefs and squinting at the brand name on the waistband. 

Suddenly, his whole fucking face is on fire, the tips of his ears _burning._

In the morning, he was too tired to register it, grabbing a pair of briefs from the pile of clean clothes that Sergio must have dumped in his room the night before and he hadn't noticed-

He's wearing Andrés' underwear. The underwear that Andrés wears. On his body. Under his clothes. On his-

"Martín?" 

He snaps out of his thoughts. 

"I'm okay, I just- I better go, I have to catch my bus."

On the way home, Martín keeps squirming in his seat, drowsiness long forgotten and fingers absent-mindedly tracing the waistband poking out from underneath his jeans. 

4.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Andrés asks once they've made it off the roof, fingertips smelling faintly of nicotine and cheeks flushed from the cold wind. 

"Sure," Martín says. "Just let me change into something less refined."

He motions to his clothes - the ones that Andrés got for him for the fake date - the kimono jacket, most of all, that feels nice but a little bit _too_ nice for hanging out in front of the tv; the tight pants, too, that make his ass look great but would be uncomfy if he were to, say, devour a whole bag of chips. 

Andrés smiles, tugging at his turtleneck.

" _Vale_ ," he nods. "I think I'm going to do the same."

It's a privilege that Martín adores, to be able to see Andrés in jeans and sweatpants and t-shirts and pyjamas. Somehow, in Martín's mind, it makes him look even hotter. Maybe it's the contrast, because Andrés has an inherent elegance to him, a timeless grace that's all the more striking when he's wearing casual clothes. 

He's about to head into his own room when Andrés stops him - by grabbing his belt, nonetheless. Martín's dumb heart does a sommersault. 

"What?" 

"I believe that's mine." 

Martín frowns in confusion, but then he glances down at the black leather belt and- _oh._ Oh, yes, that's right. 

He stretches his mouth out in a smile.

"Finders keepers? Unless you want my pants to drop," he teases, making Andrés snort. He loves making him laugh or smile, he loves their effortless friendship, he loves-

He nearly jumps when the buckle clicks. 

Andrés is still smirking as he undoes it, as he - attention, please, yet again - _undoes Martín's belt._

Martín is about to die.

They're not even awfully close, and Andrés is not really touching him, but Martín's breath hitches in his throat and he's quiet while Andrés slowly starts pulling the belt out of the loops of Martín's jeans. The sound of leather sliding against the rough fabric is loud, it's heady, it's _sensual_ and Martín is a fucking pervert for thinking that, but it looks like Andrés is flirting with him on purpose. 

Suddenly, there's silence and the belt is now in Andrés' hands. 

"See? They didn't drop," Andrés grins. "Thank you, Martín." 

What an _asshole._

Andrés turns around and saunters to his own room, leaving Martín standing where he stood, trying to calm and stifle his pounding heart. 

5.

When Martín wakes up, his head hurts a bit and he feels weak, as one does after a night of drinking, but he's also warm and comfortable and everything-

Everything smells so _nice._

He's in Andrés' room, in Andrés' bed, in Andrés' clothes, in Andrés' arms. 

Everything smells so nice because it smells like him, like his shower gel and like their laundry detergent. The cotton shirt Martín is wearing is soft, the quilt stretched over them is heavy, keeping the heat between them. 

Andrés' body is warm where their legs are tangled together and his hand is warm where it's resting on Martín's hip. 

Martín would sigh in contentment, but he doesn't want to wake Andrés, who's looking so calm, so relaxed, so young, too, with his lips parted and his breath coming out in small puffs, not quite snoring, but almost.

So, Martín just looks and thinks that everything around him belongs to Andrés. 

Martín does, too. 

At some point, Andrés stirs, but he doesn't open his eyes right away. Instead, his hand starts stroking Martín's side and he turns his head to nuzzle into Martín's hair. 

"Good morning." 

That's what paradise must feel like. 

  
  


+1.

Andrés looks at himself in the mirror and he figures that he's never looked this good, ever, in his life. And that's quite a feat. 

At thirty, he already has a few grey hairs, but to his great satisfaction, they make him look _even better._

"Martín, do you think I'll soon be a daddy?" 

Martín chokes on the champagne he's been drinking, stretched out in the armchair, not ready yet himself - he's only put on his shirt. 

"A _what now,_ Andrés?!" 

"Oh, you know- a silver fox or whatever people call it."

He smirks at the sigh of relief he hears from Martín, then. Sure, Andrés is great with his niece, but would he want children of his own? Never in a thousand years. 

"Help me with the cufflinks?" he asks, turning his body fully towards Martín and sending him a grin. 

Martín nods, dragging his - admittedly wonderful - ass off the armchair.

He stands in front of Andrés and takes a good look at him, and grins right back. 

"My, aren't you handsome," he purrs, dragging his hands across Andrés' chest, upwards, until they're folded at the nape of his neck. 

He kisses him, and Andrés closes his eyes, enjoying the softness of Martín's lips. 

Martín isn't nervous at all and it's just- wonderful. 

Maybe he will be later, but for now, he's relaxed and confident. 

"So, the cufflinks," he says against Andrés' lips. 

Andrés nods, pulling away just enough to take the cufflinks from the golden platter on the dresser. He hands them to Martín and puts up his hand, smiling as Martín carefully starts putting the first one in its place. 

Smiling wider when Martín frowns. 

"Aren't those mine?" 

"It's my _something borrowed_."


End file.
